


Present

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cousin Incest, Established Relationship, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-12-01 01:10:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11475450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: It’s good to be released and be together.





	Present

**Author's Note:**

  * For [breakaway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakaway/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for gotham-haze’s “#28 [Present] for Maedhros/Fingon” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/) [from this list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/162565904960/prompt-list-3). I went for all definitions. ;)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Silmarillion or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

They’ve time, now, to spend as they will, to stop and _breathe_ and think before they act, something the both of them cherish. It took them a month to choose their home when they were first released from Mandos’ Halls, another to gather what things they used to own. Most of it is gone, but boxes still come daily to the door, mostly from elves who’ve never left these shores and don’t understand _time_ at all. Their living room is still stacked to the ceiling in places, their dining table covered and their entrance hall a mess. But they have better things to concern themselves with than idle trinkets, and for the most part, they work at their own pace.

Today, in the bright afternoon of Arien’s vivid sun, Fingon collects another package. This contains folded robes from a local family that was once in his father’s service but never crossed the ice. Fingon knows the gift is likely out of guilt, remorse that they didn’t follow their king, thought it all came to naught and Fingon bears them no ill will. He’s glad that so many elves stayed, that so many are still _pure_ , untouched by the wars, not needing the centuries of cooling down that Mandos gave the warriors. Fingon knows from the label and the weight that the box contains new sets of robes, which is just as well—what little he and Maedhros have they share between them, and there’s hardly enough for one wardrobe, let alone two.

But they have a walk in closet to add these to. Their house is still too vast for what few things they own. Fingon collects the package and carries it through the cluttered hallway, up the twisted steps that lead to the second floor, and then past the washroom and study to their bedchambers. Another bedroom has been made up for when their brothers, cousins, fathers and mothers visit, but the master bedroom is the only one they really _use_. And they share it between them, for Fingon wouldn’t go another night without Maedhros by his side, not if he can help it. 

He finds Maedhros out on the balcony, looking across the rolling hills below, the vast city with its many lights. Fingon sets the box on their bed—they’ll need to open and unveil it before they put it away. Maedhros shows no signs of hearing him, though Maedhros’ senses have always been deadly sharp. Fingon strolls towards him and already knows what look he’ll wear. 

Just short of the balcony, Fingon plucks another parcel off the dresser—one he’d meant to give to Maedhros before their morning fun distracted him. With the whim of finally seeing to their boxes on his mind, he’d forgotten it entirely. But he gathers it now, then joins his love out on the terrace, where the day is warm and beautiful.

Maedhros is more so. He still bears all his scars, his skin an array of pale lines and his one ear shorn, his hair more ragged than it was in their youth. But he’s still handsome in Fingon’s eyes. From the moment they first saw one another, he was all Fingon ever wanted. For the most part, that affection’s been returned. But this is one of those times, all too frequent now, when Maedhros doesn’t seem to see him. Maedhros’ mind is far away. His spirit is almost out of reach, trapped inside a brutal past, and Fingon has to quietly murmur, “ _My Nelyo_ ,” to draw it back.

It takes laying one hand over Maedhros and lightly squeezing to draw Maedhros back. He turns to Fingon first with dulled eyes, but they come into focus as they take Fingon in. Their salvation has always been one another. Fingon holds the box out to him, and Maedhros slowly takes it. 

He withdraws from Fingon’s grip only so he can set the box on the railing and lift the lid. Atop the black velvet lining, a golden ribbon rests inside. It isn’t the same one that Maedhros first made for him when they were children—an attempt at craft beyond the forge—nor the one that Maedhros braided into Fingon’s hair before that fateful night of the ships. The ones that Fingon would wrap about Maedhros’ healing fingers after Thangorodrim are long gone. But there were new ones to find in Valinor, and they can make new memories with them.

It works. A soft smile dons on Maedhros’ lips, his eyes lifting to Fingon: he’s back in the _here and now_ , standing alive with Fingon, without worry over events long past. Their future will be a good one, Fingon knows. He asks, “May I?”

Maedhros answers, “Please,” and turns to give Fingon space. 

Plucking the ribbon up, Fingon gathers Maedhros’ hair, bundling all the copper waves as high as he can, despite the weight and thickness—the day is too hot to have so much let down. Fingon has his own braid from another night, but Fingon draws Maedhros’ into a high ponytail. He knots the ribbon around it several times, then ties it in a neat little bow that stands out gloriously against the orange-red. Maedhros glances over his shoulder afterwards, fixing Fingon with a grin. 

He leans over to brush a kiss across Fingon’s lips, and Fingon beckons him back inside, where they have a home to build _together_.


End file.
